


frofast (a.k.a breakfast/frokost)

by TheInternationalAffair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Food, Gen, norwegian culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInternationalAffair/pseuds/TheInternationalAffair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norway and America share a morning meal with the best damn waffles ever (Don't tell Belgium.) A domestic drabble in which the author muses about the contrasts of waffle culture in the two actual countries.</p>
<p>Waffle culture's not to be taken lightly, you know-- how else can explain that weird stuff Nor's put on his waffle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	frofast (a.k.a breakfast/frokost)

**Author's Note:**

> This is from Tumblr, but I figured I may as well put it up here, too.
> 
> I readily acknowledge my addiction to dull, domestic musings.   
> Do enjoy though-- AmeNor is also one of my favorite pairings, conveniently coupled with DenEng for ultimate popular OTP destroying ;D
> 
> And don't get too hungry reading this!
> 
> -TIA/Megu

"I don’t know how many times I have to explain it to you," Norway says. He lifts another hot waffle from his iron (the one that he insisted to bring—Norway refuses to cook his ‘special recipe’ on any other iron, heaven forbid Denmark’s or even Sweden’s) onto the plate, every batch golden, soft, and perfectly caramelized.

"We don’t eat these for breakfast."

"That’s you guys, though," retorts America, eyeing the batter as it spills onto the hot metal. It sizzles as Norway closes the top, and America swears he can smell the sugar wafting from the iron. 

Norway looks at America pointedly.

"Not that I mind of course," adds America with a long sip of caramel macchiato, "I could eat this shit for every meal of the day."

Acknowledging the compliment, Norway nods quietly and takes sips of his own cup of coffee, which he takes black. 

"That’s a start, then. We’ll follow that up by teaching you how to drink coffee like a man," says Norway, pointing at the Starbucks logo disapprovingly. America glares back and covers up the green seal and the undressed mermaid on it. 

"Hey. Hey. Don’t diss my coffee shop." America shakes his tumbler at Norway threateningly. "For your information the Starbucks logo was based on a woodcut from your place."

"That was a fake," Norway points out, "And I don’t think you can even taste the coffee with the amount of stuff you put on it."

"Someone’s fun at parties. I think it’s fun to try new flavors," grumbles America, licking warm caramel off his mouth.

"Is it fun to have to visit the dentist more often afterwards?"

"For good food, hell yes." America says snarkily, determined to win just one round of call-and-response this time around, only to be interrupted by a plate of waffles plunked down before him. 

"Speaking of food, it’s ready," says Norway, a friendly gleam in his eyes as he admires his work, "Tuck in."

Perhaps Norway is even smiling. 

At this point however, America is now watching sugary steam rise from every tender hole in the waffles as he forks a couple on his plate, each waffle falling perfectly onto the platter.They’re not too tough, and they’re not too soggy, but they’re just strong enough to hold up a couple pats of butter and a drizzle of Vermont syrup. 

"This looks great, Norway," says America warmly, grinning childishly at the array of toppings before him. "Let’s eat!" 

And with that, America grabs the syrup bottle and pours it all over his waffles, soon to be joined by fresh fruit and whipped cream, thick chocolate sauce, jam, and peanut butter, which Norway could never understand. America is even careful to preserve the integrity of the waffle “hearts,” subdividing his toppings among each heart-shaped segment of the waffle.

Norway observes him behind a couple servings of his own. He can’t resist a smirk before he starts to chuckle.

America hears Norway’s laughter from the across the table, and looks up perplexedly from his small tower of waffles. “What’s so funny?”

"You eat those things like Iceland," replies Norway coolly, taking a cheese slicer and setting it upon a strange brown block. "He, like you, will have no teeth one day because of the amount of sugar he eats." 

America frowns, deciding not to point out that Iceland’s not the only Nordic that eats his waffles that way. “Well excuse you, Mr. Butter Shortage of 2011.” 

Norway smiles, spreading homemade jam from America’s garden onto his own waffle. “There are worse things I could have a shortage of, America—and even worse things I can have too much of,” is the wry response, and America returns the gesture with an equally wry smile.

"Touche." America says, reaching over to grab more whipped cream when the brown slices on Norway’s waffles catches his eye.

"The hell’s that on your waffle, man?"

"Goat cheese." Norway replies bluntly. 

"That’s weird. Don’t put freaky brown cheese on your waffle."

"Don’t drink Starbuck—What. Are you doing."

Norway looks down to see that his own place of jam and goat cheese waffles has been replaced a tower of soaked, sugary ones. He scowls at America.

"Try new things," is America’s only explanation, "I’ll try this weird brown cheese on your waffle if you try my Cavity Calamity!"

"Cavity Calamity? Really?" Norway chuckles, a bit more heartily this time, but relents and digs into America’s creation. "You can think of a better name for that." 

"Maybe after I’ve eaten," replies America with his familiar cheery grin, "I can’t think without a full stomach." 


End file.
